


Never Alone in the Dark

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dark, Dom/sub, Drama, Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-20
Updated: 2007-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-27 14:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10811067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Draco is a prisoner while Harry is winning the war at immense personal cost. Neither of them wants to be alone.





	Never Alone in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

It was much too late when Harry arrived, not that there was such a thing as visiting hours in Azkaban. He was not at all surprised, however, when the guard asked no questions, simply stepped aside to let him pass, his eyes looking everywhere but at Harry.   
  
Not one of the guards ever met his gaze, no matter that Harry came nearly every day now. Sometimes, when he had nothing better to worry about, Harry wondered if the new, weak, human staff of Azkaban thought he would kill them for questioning him. Perhaps they thought he might do the same thing to them he'd done to Dolores Umbridge, cut down with a lightening-fast spell ( _Sectumsempra!_ ) that had slashed right through her cries for his mercy.   
  
He wandered easily along the slippery stone passageways, feeling far removed from the slime, the dead smell of the place, and the soft whisper-tick-clicking sounds (made by nothing found in his Monster Book of Monsters). He could see in the dark now, another one of Voldemort's powers he'd absorbed into his body as he'd destroyed pieces of Voldemort's soul. Five down and two left and if he became any more inhuman, he'd be hunting himself next.  
  
He was walking toward what had been Sirius' old cell, or at least so he'd been told by one of the guards who was prone to becoming talkative in his fear. Harry had laughed, finding it very funny that such a thing would be the first and only possession of Sirius' to end up in the hands of a Malfoy.   
  
Harry found out later that the guard had quit that same evening.  
  
Almost there, Harry whistled off-key and ran a dry hand uselessly through his hair. He wished that his hair had decided to start being a little more manageable when it had gone prematurely white on his seventeenth birthday. (And he would _only_ think of it as his seventeenth birthday because he didn't want to remember anything else about that day, ever.)  
  
Better to think about the past. Ginny, now... Ginny hadn't minded his messy hair, not really, no matter how much she'd teased him about it. He had loved that; he had loved every stolen second they had shared. He had loved kissing Ginny and the sight of her soft pale skin flushed against black robes on green grass by the lake. He'd loved her body, softness and curves, her musky, dark taste.   
  
She'd let him have her for the first time there, in their special place, casting all the spells needed to protect them both and to hide them from the world. It had been awkward, clumsy and much too fast, but she had let him do it again, repeatedly, until even teenage exuberance had been exhausted and then he had rested his head on her breast while she held him close.  
  
It had physically hurt when he had sent her away, but he had been right to do so. He had done it with the hope of winning her back, _after,_ but what he had become should never be allowed to touch her. He would always be in her debt for the memories she'd given him, because they had helped him save what part of himself he could. And he hadn't wanted anyone since.  
  
Until now. After a long and quiet slumber, the monster in his chest had returned, not dead after all. This time it wanted the Other, the one who should have been his pale counterpart and bittersweet rival in place of the snake who had chosen him, his peer. It wanted Malfoy - Draco, who curled up on himself and cried and cried in his sleep, beautiful and untouchable. (Harry had made it quite clear that any guard who touched Draco would die.)  
  
This desire was not normal, although Harry realized that part of him had always desired the feminine in the masculine too, his nature always divided. He wished that the perversion of it could still bother him the way it once would have. But there was so much blood on his hands and his soul was bruised, ripped and bleeding and even killing almost didn't register anymore, nevermind sex. Twisted or not, at least this lust was love of a sort, and Harry could only be grateful that he could still feel it.   
  
He finally stopped at the end of a long, narrow corridor in front of a particularly heavy door and peered through its tiny, barred window to look in upon his distraction. There was still a taint on Draco, Harry could see it, beading like oil all over the smooth surface of pale skin, growing fainter every day. It was the real Dark Mark, prevented by purity (which had nothing and everything to do with heart's blood) from seeping inside. Underneath, if Harry could only reach through the darkness, Draco was still whole. Harry could see the captured Death Eater's soul shining through the dirt and the old terror, and he wanted to fuck his way right in to that bright, clean place.   
  
(Hermione and Ron would never have approved, if they had lived to see Harry like this.)  
  
It felt as though hours passed while Harry stood silently outside Draco's cell, waiting and watching, wanting.  
  
At last, Draco stirred, and Harry reached in to a deep, hidden pocket in his robes and brought out a fresh lily, its white petals almost glowing in the darkness.  
  
"May I come in?" Harry asked politely, stepping up to the tiny window set in the strong door so that his face could be seen.   
  
"Why do you even bother asking? It's not as if I could stop you," Draco muttered, but he stood up, and if his intention in using sarcasm had been to cover the fact that he was glad of any company, even Harry's, it failed utterly.  
  
"Thank you," Harry said and used his magic to open the door.   
  
"What is that for?" Draco asked when Harry stepped inside, eyeing the lily warily and making Harry feel as though he'd somehow managed to commit a faux pas in Azkaban. (Not that it mattered.)  
  
"Exactly what you are thinking," Harry said. He figured Draco would appreciate his directness and honesty. "Do you want it?" He held out the flower.  
  
"No," Draco said.  
  
"I spelled it to stay beautiful."   
  
"No," Draco repeated, swallowing and tugging at what remained of his heavy satin robe. "You're not doing this to me. Not _you._ "  
  
"Would you rather I Polyjuiced into someone else?" Harry asked, but only out of curiosity. He didn't have anything like the time it would take to brew the potion.  
  
"The Boy-Who-Lived raping a failed Death Eater in his own prison cell, very damn heroic-"   
  
"I'm not going to rape you. You're going to let me have you. It's going to be good for both of us." Harry cut into the dramatics abruptly, thrilled at how much he had to struggle to keep his tone level.   
  
"You're insane."  
  
"Probably."  
  
"Why would you want to do this? Why now? Look at me. I am filthy and I must be ugly. If this is about Dumbledore, I'm sorry, Harry. You have no idea how sorry." Draco lowered himself to the ground, swallowing, his movements those of a much older man.  
  
Harry made a careless gesture to brush away the memory of Dumbledore and his damn choices (barely noticing when the flower fell to the floor). He took out his wand and cast a spell that would cleanse everything but the taint from Draco's skin. "There. Not dirty anymore, and you haven't been ugly for a long time."  
  
He waved his wand again, and Draco was naked and shivering on the cold floor and so, so beautiful to Harry's eyes.  
  
"No," Draco said again, feebly trying to cover himself.  
  
"Yes," Harry corrected firmly, "or I shan't come back."   
  
Harry held his breath, watching as the implications of his words sank in slowly.  
  
"I don't want - I can't - let me see you," Draco said as his voice crashed against Harry's threat and broke.  
  
Harry felt-remembered in a visceral flash what it was to feel guilty and he savored it. Unfortunate that Draco had to pay, but it would be worth it one hundred times over in the end.  
  
_Lumos!_ Harry let a ball of light float to the ceiling, his attention drawn to the many tiny things suddenly skittering madly into the shadows. They were probably beetles of one type or another. Beetles lived everywhere. There were more beetles than anything else on Earth, or so Dudley had claimed. They were around all the time, constantly, and only the spiders in his closet had kept them away. (Maybe it was just the beetles who whispered in the walls of Azkaban, just beetles and not leftover Dementor-spawned nightmares, after all.)   
  
Harry missed the spiders.  
  
"Green. Your eyes are green." Draco's voice brought Harry back to the present. Harry watched as the ghost of his former classmate, once so haughty and composed, chewed his lower lip nervously, not seeming to register when it began to bleed, thin liquid drops of fresh red the only colour on him.   
  
"Here, let me help you." Harry tore a small strip from the sleeve of his robe and started to move closer to Draco, who inhaled sharply and visibly braced himself against running away.  
  
Gently, Harry knelt down and began pressing the cloth lightly against Draco's lower lip. Draco turned his face to the warmth of Harry's hands, shivering, his already pale skin taking on a faint blue cast.  
  
"Harry," Draco whispered when he finished and rose, "I'm cold. I'm always so cold here, and I-" He broke off and looked up at Harry, started to chew on his lip again but stopped this time with a wince of pain when it started to bleed again.   
  
Harry leaned over to press the cloth against the bite once more, watching Draco stare longingly at his hands while he did it.  
  
"Promise you won't leave me?" Draco begged, his voice small as he named the price of his pride.  
  
"I won't leave you," Harry said firmly and wondered if Draco understood what that meant.  
  
Draco nodded, and what his thoughts were, Harry couldn't tell, because in a twinkling Draco was moving in an entirely new way. Sinuous, tempting, purposely trying to entice and succeeding all the more for the wrongness of his bright life against such dismal surroundings. His bones were clearly outlined through his skin, sharp when he turned, but delicate and enchanting in their structure for all that.  
  
"What do you like?" Draco asked softly, very close now. "Are you going to fuck me, Harry? Do you want me on my hands and knees? I'd like that, you know. It's been a long time."  
  
Harry took a deep breath and tried to ignore the part of him that was screaming _who_. "Just on your knees." Truly, he had intended just what Draco had suggested, but that was before Harry had seen the way Draco's spine was too visible in his malnourished back; he probably wouldn't even be able to survive a good fucking.  
  
Draco knelt without hesitation and if he was uncomfortable, he did not show it.  
  
"Thank you, Harry," he said. He didn't ask for permission before reaching out to the hem of Harry's robe, and dimly Harry thought that he ought to call Draco out on the omission, ought to scold him, lest Draco find him weak, but Harry couldn't seem to want to do anything other than hold and protect.   
  
"Underneath," Harry directed softly, instead, and Draco looked up at him with grey eyes that blinked far too often in the cold light of Harry's spell. He pushed at the back of Draco's head, commanding him silently to just hurry up and get started.  
  
Tangled, long blond hair vanished beneath the coarse dark wool of Harry's thick outer robe and a deep sigh was felt more than heard when Draco's face pressed into Harry's thigh.   
  
"Are you good at this, Draco?" Harry asked the apparently empty prison cell. Slowly, careful to make sure Draco could keep up, he took the two steps necessary to lean his back against the wall for support. "I'll bet you are."  
  
The lightest of touches was his only answer, quick fingers tracing fractal patterns over his cock, teasing it so very hard but not adjusting any clothing, allowing Harry's trousers to trap it uncomfortably against his thigh. A few quick, carefully sharp bites, the slight scraping of Draco's teeth on its head mocked Harry's eagerness with a hint of warm mouth and pressure, dry and muffled as it was.  
  
His robes bulked out strangely and underneath, Draco was on his knees petting him and hating him, probably trying to get as much done with his hands as possible before Harry made him quit dicking around and spat out a cliché, like _why not put that pretty mouth to good use?_   
  
But, no, Harry was wrong because soon the button of his jeans was undone, and he felt a brush of wetness on his stomach.   
  
"Fuck!" Harry gasped, because he couldn't see - hadn't been expecting -  
  
A muffled bit of laughter that sounded like sunlight answered, and how could Harry have expected that?  
  
"Whore," Harry said, angry although he refused to even think about why.  
  
His trousers and pants were pulled down his body, too rough over his cock and then it was free, the tip rubbing against something coarse. Draco's face pressed against him again, his nose in Harry's pubic hair and all Harry could feel was hot breath on his skin.   
  
And then...and then _oh, gods_ the pleasure, and Draco couldn't possibly take him all in like this and nothing divorced from any real feeling could be so sweet.   
  
Twice, Harry was nearly there, his body threatening a nervous collapse on him as he was denied, turned away each time, the suction and the friction and _fucking Draco_ withheld from him at the last possible moment.   
  
The third time, it hurt, and he reached down and felt through thick wool, grabbing Draco's head and forcing it down on his cock.   
  
Draco moaned, his throat vibrating around Harry, and the sound shot straight through Harry's aching balls. He held Draco's head, not allowing Draco's half-hearted attempts to pull away, wishing only that he could see his pointy face as he fucked Draco's coy mouth hard.  
  
He refused to be denied and soon his orgasm was pulled from him, swallowed eagerly, Draco's throat milking every drop until Harry was beyond spent. A hiss of pain gathered behind his teeth as Draco continued to suckle his hot, used flesh as though he could draw out more, as though he were feeding from Harry. (And Harry did wonder, later, whether his come wasn't the most nourishment Draco had consumed since he'd been incarcerated.)   
  
"Stop," he said with a voice that wasn't ready to be used again just yet. He rubbed Draco's back, wincing at the distinct feeling of each rib, even through the thick wool.   
  
If Draco heard, he paid no attention, continuing to pull painfully at his mouthful of cock.   
  
Harry yanked his cloak up, using the sudden slap of the cold air on Draco's naked body to snap him out of it before he hurt Harry so badly that Harry finally lost control of his rage and his power. "It's time to go. Stand up."  
  
Slowly, Draco did as he was told, rubbing his arms as he was cast out of the heat he'd created inside Harry's robe. Wet come dripped down his chest and stomach, though he didn't seem to notice and there was blood trickling from his abused lip once more.  
  
"You will come back soon." Draco phrased it as a statement, but his voice was flat.  
  
Harry shook his head. "You're coming with me."   
  
Draco smiled shyly. He had nothing to gather from the filthy cell (they both let Harry's lily lie white in the gloom where it had fallen), so Harry was surprised when he paused, his head cocked as though listening.   
  
"Do you hear that?" Draco asked as the rustling and clicking seemed to grow even louder. When Harry nodded, Draco continued, excited, "I think they are whispering 'Good-bye'."


End file.
